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It was difficult to keep his body still while he endured three more interminable trips to the woodpile. Shivering in the cold damp air, he repeatedly clenched and unclenched his right hand to prevent it from tapping against his leg. Finally she closed the kitchen door, and Geoffrey was able to move again.
Reaching the stable, he lifted the catch and sidled in. Breathing heavily, he took a few moments to catch his breath. The interior was dim, but there was enough early morning light for him to be able to see as he collected the gear he needed.
He stopped outside a stall in which stood a chestnut gelding. He swiftly saddled him and the horse in the stall next door, then led the horses from the stables, once again keeping to the shadows until they were out of sight of the house.
He couldn’t afford to hire a carriage or horses, so he’d alternate between the two mounts to hasten the journey time. Getting on the chestnut, he kicked the horse savagely.
Having to steal his own damn horses. It wasn’t right. Not right at all. And he knew whose fault it was.
It was hers.
And now he knew where she was.
30
Underwood Farm, Bishop Malton, March 1814
Ria watched with satisfaction as her farm manager mounted his horse and left. At no time as she answered his questions or gave him instructions did he show surprise at her responses or try to argue with her. He accepted her directions without question.
Here she had no one to rely on. At St. James Manor, there was Monty and the ladies as well as the new estate manager, a remarkably competent young man who attended to the day-to-day details. Here there was only her, and so far she was doing well. As each day passed and she made more decisions, she was developing confidence.
Ria walked back along the gravel path beside the kitchen garden to the cottage. Mary, well again now, had gone to the village with Mathews and Dawson to get supplies.
As she entered the silent cottage, she realized this was one of the few times in her life when she was completely alone. It was a novel feeling.
So was living in the cottage. She could have hired someone from the village to live in and help with the cleaning and cooking but hadn’t because she was enjoying the novelty of it all.
In the dining room, she picked up a cloth and began polishing the large table. Over the past couple of weeks, all the rooms had been cleaned. There was just polishing left to do in this room and the sitting room.
All the Holland covers, along with the rest of the linen, had been washed and dried by women from the village. Now the covers were ready to go back on the furniture when they left.
She sighed at the thought of leaving. She didn’t want to. She missed the ladies, but not everything else that had happened recently. Here at the cottage, she felt isolated yet protected. It was a refuge from a life that had become too painful.
Ria rubbed hard on one particular spot as she thought about Luc. He would have picked up the ring by now.
Living at the cottage had given her time to think. Unfortunately most of her thoughts had been about Luc, and with them had come a range of emotions. Grief, depression, disbelief, and even anger.
She rubbed harder at the spot. How dare he not listen to her! She’d had good reason to be at the masquerade, even if he didn’t know that. He should have trusted her. Or at least let her explain.
The table was shining, but she kept polishing. He had been at the masquerade too. Unlike her, he didn’t have good reason. He’d rejected her for the very thing he himself had done.
Adrian Lucifer Adair, the Earl of Arden, was a damned hypocrite!
Luc sighed with relief when the farm cottage came into view. It seemed like he’d been holding his breath the whole way here. Now his destination was in sight, his tense muscles loosened somewhat, although he didn’t know what he was going to find.
As he neared the cottage, snow began to fall heavily. He’d left his coach in Bishop Malton as he’d not been sure it would make it in the snow.
Urging his horse to greater speed, he rode to the back of the cottage. He quickly dismounted, tied his horse’s reins to a railing under the shelter of the eaves, and went inside. The back door led into a scullery. After calling out but getting no answer, he continued and found himself in a large kitchen.
Ria was lying asleep on a blue damask chaise longue. Looking around the room, he saw touches that he was sure were hers.
There was a selection of blue pottery lined up on the deep windowsills. A blue and white bowl on the kitchen table was filled, not with greenhouse deli
cacies that you would see in a manor house, but with carrots, turnips, onions, and potatoes.
In a corner opposite the stove, there was a faded but still attractive red floral-patterned rug. On top of the rug was a deep blue chair and Ria’s chaise longue, furniture normally seen in a drawing room. They were positioned so heat from the stove would easily reach them. A large, bright red shawl was draped across the bottom of the chaise, but a long black coat covered Ria.
While he watched, she brushed it against her face, then pulled it closer, clutching it tightly as though it were a precious possession.
